


Annual final-exams

by Elexa



Series: The family series [5]
Category: World of Warcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23611315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elexa/pseuds/Elexa
Summary: After the purge Rommath is tasked with Aethas' education and thus forces the younger to enlist into the Academy again. As the semester comes to an end Aethas attends the final exams and is ready to face his first holidays in Quel'thalas since he had left for Dalaran.
Relationships: Rommath & Aethas Sunreaver
Series: The family series [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1337095
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Aethas jumped up and down in order to get the blood circulating in his leg while the equipment of the different stations was given their last touches.

It was the second last day of the annual final exams of the Academy and today the second highest class, his class, was being tested in gymnastics.

The annual final exams are one of the biggest non-religious events in Quel’thalas. All classes were tested in stamina, gymnastics, fighting, knowledge and magical ability. The level of difficulty rose alongside the classes.

Aethas himself had especially fond memories of his first final exam, back when he had just been a young elfling who had just entered into the academy.

“Ready, Aethas?” a classmate had walked up beside him and together they watched as the bar was lifted to the height that each of them would have to jump over in order to pass.

Their academy uniforms represented their class in its dark purple colour, it looked horrendous with Aethas natural red hair, and consisted of a shirt and a pair of pants for the sportive activities.

Most of Aethas’ friends had already finished the academy as they were at least two years older than him. He had met them back when they had still been children and he had been put into a higher class due to his talent.

Around them the terraces of the stadium where this part of the exams was held filled with spectators and Aethas had to fight the urge to turn around and look for _him_.

He had no doubt that the Grand Magister was watching, it was only thanks to the older elf and his threats that Aethas had even returned to the academy.

“You won’t be returning to Dalaran anytime soon, Sunreaver, thus you can spend your time in a productive way.” He had sneered at Aethas and had personally enlisted him again.

The academy was just as he had remembered, with less students and teachers thanks to Arthas, but the buildings had been ignored by the ruin which had entered their city.

At least this time around he and his classmates were of the same age which had made finding friends even easier to him.

Their class teacher walked over towards them and they fell silent as he announced the order in which they would attend the stations and warned them that for this part of the exam magic was strictly forbidden. Then he wished all of them good luck while the announcer overhead began to call out the first students.

There were three stations this year: high jumps, floor exercise and the horizontal bar.

At each one of them they could get up to one hundred points and needed to get at least fifty to pass the station. Afterwards, all their points would be added, and they would be listed accordingly. The two students with the smallest amount of points would not pass this round, the final round of the exams.

The order of the five rounds changed each year individually for each class and thus forced the students to excel at each of them in order to pass each year.

His class has had fifteen students at the beginning of this year’s final exams but 8 had already been sorted out in the previous rounds. Thus, there were 7 of them in this round and two more would not pass today, or more should somebody not achieve the required points.

Those that passed would rise to the highest class of the academy and would graduate next year. The highest class wasn’t tested in physical abilities anymore, however, their tests on magical abilities were three times as long as those of the second class.

Furthermore, only the three best of the graduates were allowed the rank of junior magister and would be able to attain the title of Magister over time. Everyone else would become an Arcanists and would have to work their way up.

Aethas was in third position and had just finished the second station, the ground exercise, his head was still swimming slightly from his jumps, as he walked towards the last station. The first student had already finished all stations and was allowed to rest while his classmates finished up.

Coating his hands in the mineral dust which would give him the necessary hold on the bar he ran forward and jumped.

A few jumps and spins later and he dropped down next to his two classmates as the last of their classmates finished the first station which folded into itself and vanished from the stadium.

They would only receive their points after the last student had finished and thus, they could only sit and wait. They cheered along with the mass of spectators whenever one of their classmates had finished the last station and slowly, one after another, they relaxed near the side of the centre stage.

They stood up as soon as the list of names and points began to appear magically overhead and Aethas wasn’t surprised to see himself in first position. He had never ranked lower than second and even that had been during his first exam when everything had still been new to him.

As the lower ranks were revealed tension both entered and left their group as some exhaled in relieve while others held their breath.

Aethas felt that itch to look at the terrace, where the Magisters and the Grand Magister were situated, again but he kept his eyes trained on the list instead as two of his fellow students broke out in tears.

Not passing the exam one could either repeat a year once or leave the academy altogether. Those that left the academy after failing second highest year would automatically become assistants to Arcanists.

“So, what if I won’t make the cut?” he had asked the Grand Magister mockingly after the other had forced him to accompany him to the Academy.

“You have been best of you class until you considered dropping out. If you won’t give this your best then I will make sure that you will be appointed as my assistant and apprentice until you receive the rank of Magister” The Grand Magister had threatened and that had been all the motivation Aethas had needed.

With their ranks in order all they would be doing today would be to go to home or, in Aethas’ case, to their rooms at the academy and clean the sweat of today off.

Tomorrow there would be the final ceremony where the total scores where revealed and the best student of each class was given a medal by the Grand Magister himself.

His room, big enough to fit a bet and a desk inside, and his small bathroom were dark when he returned but only until one of his charms lit up and heated the room. Taking one of his normal uniforms, a robe in the colour of his class, he migrated into his bath and under the hot spray of the shower.

His room wasn’t empty when he returned. In the centre of the room stood Grand Magister Rommath and was apparently just studying Aethas homework on illusions which laid open on his desk.

Aethas felt far too tired to be willing to have to deal with the older elf. The Grand Magister had tried, on multiple occasions, to install himself as Aethas’ benefactor, even offering him a room at his own mansion instead of the small one reserved for him at the academy.

The black-haired elf turned towards him as he heard Aethas enter, “I wanted to congratulate you on you score today” his hand made an elegant wave gesture in mid-air and a small present appeared in his hand, “here, for you.”

He glanced suspiciously to the small package, which was handed to him, send one glance towards the waiting Grand Magister then carefully opened the shiny wrapping paper.

Why exactly the Grand Magister was in the possession of bright red wrapping paper with golden phoenix chicks printed all over wasn’t his question to ask.

The present turned out to be a small box of some sort with one gleaming rune on each of four sides.

“Uh, thank you?” he asks the older elf while eying the strange item.

“You are very welcome-” the Grand Magister replies and Aethas throws confused glances between him and the item, “- it detects harmful runes, spells and curses” the older elf finally explained and Aethas hums while slowly turning the box in his grasp, reading and trying to recognize each of the four runes.

“Two are missing” he finally says and looks back to the older elf, surprised by the proud expression on Rommath’s face.

“Yes, I considered it fair enough that you should place two protective runes of your liking yourself. Should you wish for something more _complicated_ you are welcome to contact me for help” Rommath proclaims and Aethas has to swallow the amused laugh which tries to leave him.

Of course, the Grand Magister would gift him something which would force Aethas to contact him again. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder whether the Grand Magister has meant complicated or dangerous.

“Besides, my offer for free housing still stands, no one should have to live in such little space” Rommath continues and Aethas doesn’t manage to contain his eyeroll.

“Thank you, Grand Magister, but I am fairly comfortable here” he answers and opens the door for the other elf.

There is a thin smile on the Grand Magisters lips, as it always is after Aethas has rejected one of his offers, but the older mage leaves without another comment.

He closes the door after the other man has left then soon goes to bed, tomorrow will be a busy day for everyone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has been sitting around for about a few months. Another part in the series that is not part of the others.

The next day is the last day that he has to wear that horrendous purple and thus he dressed quickly and pulls his hair once again into a high ponytail, this way preventing his hair and robe to meet as little as possible.

He eats breakfast amidst the younger years which chatter excitedly while also throwing envious glances at his purple robe.

From his class he is the only one living at the academy, everyone else lives at home with their families. It was only cheaper for his family to have him live at the academy where they didn’t have to pay for food, water and rent as he lived at the academy for free.

After breakfast he returns to his room for a quick freshen up, but he stops as he sees the letter on his desk.

It is an ordinary vanilla envelope, its front facing down so that he can’t read who has send it.

During his first two years of academy his family, his mother especially, had written him a letter each week, but over the years those letters had lessen in frequency and Aethas had concentrated on his friends instead of dwelling over what this could possibly mean.

In the last years before he had left the academy, he had only received one letter in which his family wished him the best of luck for his exams. He had never bothered to tell them that there was only one exam.

They had not even arrived before the exam, some even only during the next year. He had always answered them with long letters of his own but had never gotten anything back.

“Your lives might just be too different” his friends had tried to consulate him over tea in their expensive mansions.

And maybe they were right, his middle-class family who had to work each day of each week hard to make their money which would still be so little when compared to what a Magister, what _he_ , will earn some day.

Within the first week of his work Aethas will be able to pay for his own apartment, after his first year he will be able to comfortably afford his own mansion in a part of Silvermoon his family will never set foot in.

Tentatively he walks over and picks up the envelope. It was the first one he has received in years, the letters had stopped completely after he had left Quel’thalas.

The paper felt rich and thick under his fingers, more expensive than anything his family had ever possessed besides the official documents.

He got sceptical at once, he doubted that his family was suddenly earning enough money that they considered to buy thicker paper. At the academy they only used parchment, thick enough that once could paint with ink on it without dripping through.

As soon as he had turned the letter over, he knew that it didn’t come from his family. The script was to neat to belong to either of his parents, no, the hand looked as if the writer had learned how to write neatly. Something, that only the Magister and Priests learn.

His name was written out in neat letters and some part of his mind remembers seeing this hand before.

No sender was given but the dark red ink meant that it was someone who was willing to pay for the expensive red ink. Ink that was mainly produced for Magisters.

He let the envelop slide down to the table again then turned towards his bath. If it wasn’t from his family, then it could wait until he returned.

He walked back to the stadium and to the rooms below the main area where most of his class were already waiting.

Just as he arrived his class teacher began addressing them:

“Dear students, first of all I’d like to congratulate all those of you who have passed this year. To those that haven’t: Always remember that as a mage in our society it is your responsibility to keep smiling even in the greatest of defeats. Thank you, that would be all, good luck to everyone.”

They applauded him then waited as the first years walked out to receive their score.

One after another the years leave the underground tunnels and then it is finally their turn. They are the last to walk out as the second highest year and patiently wait until the headmistress of the academy begins her speech.

As soon as she finishes her speech the first two scoreboards appear above them, again the younger years go first.

Years 1 and 2, then 3 and 4 and so on until, finally, year 13 and fourteen appear overhead.

Aethas pays the year below him no mind, instead he stares up as his name appears behind the golden #1.

Barely he registers the quiet sobs from his classmates, but he already leaves the group of peers behind to step forward to the podium where the Grand Magister awaits the bests of each class.

He joins the row of 13 other students and straightens his shoulders.

Grand Magister Rommath approaches him first, for once, there is a visible proud glimmer in the other’s eyes as well as a broad smile on his lips.

He congratulates him on his score as he carefully clips the medal to Aethas’ chest.

Then he moves on to the next and Aethas returns to his class while the crowd around them cheers loudly.

“Well done, Aethas, you have 10 points over the number two” one of his class-mates cheers but he can easily detect the slight jealousy that lines her voice; normally the ranks are only one or two points apart.

He ignores her jealousy and thanks her, widening the smile on his lips to express gratitude.

As soon as all the students have returned to their classes it is time for the new Magisters to emerge from the underground tunnels and to be given their official title.

Suddenly, he just stands there and observes the three students in their pearly white robes walk towards the Grand Magister, when another presence prods at his mind.

“This is going to be you in one year” the presence tells him fondly and Aethas fight to keep his face in check.

Mind magic was not uncommon in Quel’thalas, and among the Magisters, and has been practiced for generations. Yet, long distance mind magic was rare even among them and could only be practiced by the most powerful elven magi.

He knew who had spoken to him, the smug voice all too familiar.

“Interesting, the fact that you can hear me this clearly must mean that you have used this kind of magic yourself often before” the Grand Magister continues and Aethas forces order about his face, a fake smile returning to his lips.

“I wonder why an _honoured_ Archmage of the Kirin Tor would have need of such conniving form of magic? Especially among the humans who are so more less adapt to this magic. How often did you play good consciousness to some poor fellow?” now the Grand Magister sounds the most amused Aethas has ever heard him, but he doesn’t answer him.

“Really, boy? Not answering me? How old are you again? 40?” the Grand Magister mocks him and Aethas can’t help but answer.

“You can use this magic after all, well, if you aren’t full of surprises, dear boy” was the last thing the Grand Magister said to him, the endearment as sweet as honey.

The ceremony continued as Aethas watched the new Magister receive their title and new positions within their society.

Afterwards as they applauded alongside the crowd Aethas carefully pulled up his mental shields which would drown out any further advances of mind magic.

He felt the Grand Magister’s angry glare burn holes into his old uniform.

He left the stadium with his class and quickly returned to his room.

The door to his room fell shut behind him and only then did he dare to take the first relieved breath ever since that mental conversation.

Just then his eyes land on that envelope again and he walks over to open it.

Inside is a neatly folded letter written in the same hand. The text is formally written and congratulates him on passing the exam. It also mentions that he should spent the money wisely. It isn’t signed by anyone, but he already knows who has sent it. There was only one elf hell-bent on spending their money on him.

Looking into the envelope again he finds a dark purple slender leather pouch. As soon as he sees it, he knows it is enchanted.

Leaving his desk behind he turns towards his bed and shakes the poach upside down above it; he regrets the decision as soon as he hears the small fortune of coins fall out of it.

They spill out on his bed and create a metallic circle around it; he wonders momentarily if the Grand Magister is watching him and if he just had a great laugh.

With a wave of his hand the spell is cast to collect and count the money while he returns to the letter. Rereading it he has to snort at the flippantly with which the money is mentioned.

20 million gold, his spell informs him, is the amount the Grand Magister has given him and Aethas considers returning the money to him but as the letter isn’t signed he has no proof that the money truly belonged to the other elf and thus the other doesn’t has to retake the money.

As always, as with all of his earning, he puts a quarter of it away; to later send it to his family. Maybe, with so much money left, he could take a day off from work to visit them.

Or, maybe, they would visit him.

Anyway, it was enough to pay for everything he would need for his final year. Which meant that all the money he had saved this far he could add on top of what would remain. He could have his staff repaired or buy a new one, and new robes which weren’t that close to his ankles.

But, first things first: tomorrow he would send the letter to his family, once he had decided on a day to visit them. Then he would go and get the supplies for next year.

With a small list and plan in his head he quickly changed and went to bed, making sure that the door was security closed.

The cube, which he had put on his nightstand for the time being glowed softly in the darkness.

And, maybe, he should thank the Grand Magister. Just this once.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I am back. Sorry for the long wait but last year took its toll on me.

The next day arrived with the sun gleaming through his windows and reflecting off all shiny surface in his room, thus making even turning away from the windows ineffective.

Grumbling to himself he pushed down his warm blanked and tapped on naked foot over to his bath and got dressed. Afterwards, he wrote a short letter to his family, packed the money and a copy of his report then send the enchanted envelope off.

Afterwards, he puts the remaining money into his personal vault then readies himself for leaving. One last time he lets his eyes wander through the room, assuring himself that he hasn’t forgotten anything. His eyes stop on the cube beside his bed.

He walks back over towards it and uses a charm to shrink it to such a size that it can easily fit as a pendant around his neck. Pushing the necklace under his robes he finally leaves his room and the academy grounds to make his way to the royal exchange.

While the Bazaar was the biggest market in all of Quel’thalas the royal exchange was the section of Silvermoon where the Magisters frequented. The shops there were run by the same families for generations and their wares are specified for their clients.

Besides the royal exchange, there were only a few shops left on Quel’danas which strictly served Magisters and those in training.

His first stop would be at Magesign’s scrolls and books, from then on, he would visit Greatfury’s staffs and swords.

The only other shop which Magisters visited that was outside of the beforementioned regions was the tailor, Keelen. He and his family had been making robes for generations and even today the best robes were crafted by them.

Unfortunately, the tailor’s atelier was situated at the northern part of the Bazaar and at this hour the open space would be filled with elves. Thankfully, there was an underground passage from one of the Magister’s sanctuaries to the north which allowed for an easy entrance and exit.

To his surprise, he met another of his classmates at the tailors who too was here for the new uniforms.

Suddenly master Keelen approached him while holding a short notice in his hand: “You’re Aethas? Sunreaver?” he asked to which Aethas could only nod in surprise, “The Grand Magister has ordered that we should make your graduation robe as well. So, up you go.”

The old elf pointed him to one of the plateaus and Aethas followed his instructions while also shifting nervously under the jealous glares from his fellow student.

Soon his measurements were taken, and he followed the tailor up to the register while discussing everything he wanted to be made.

However, he was once again surprised when the other elf stated his prize: “387 gold would that be. 5493623 gold in total but seeing as the Grand Magister has already paid for most of it-” the older elf trailed off and Aethas quickly pays the sums then flees from the dim interior.

This time he takes the official exit and walks over towards where his family’s stall is. As usual, he can smell the fish far earlier than he can make out the dirty and swollen wooden tables.

The other elves give him a wide berth around him, some even dropping into a quick bow in greeting. His long free hair and robes stick out on the market where everybody else wears their hair practically and whose clothes have at least one stain of peculiar origin.

As he walks further south on the market, he notices the small group of rangers which had begun to trail him and he can’t help but walk a bit straighter as the rangers, three: one woman and two men, close up on him.

They don’t say anything as they escort him but the elves around them grow rigid and he can’t help but sigh to himself.

Finally, the stall comes into view and he gives a short wave with his hand at which the rangers scatter from his side.

He knows that they aren’t far away but far enough to give him the illusion of privacy.

“Good day, My Lord. Could I interest you in some of our finest snappers? I’ve heard that they are wonderful ingredients for potions” a young girl, younger than himself, greets him after bowing quickly.

Aethas stares transfixed at her, a thick lump in his throat making it impossible to answer, he only shakes his head as a short memory flashes before his eyes:

The girl chases him around their family’s small house. He feels that strange feeling in his legs again and suddenly he can move faster than he did before. “Aethas!” his mother cautioning voice comes from inside and he runs slower again.

Back then he had not known that magic can be used to enhance one’s body.

Soft but urgent footsteps behind him force him back to the reality and the confused look on the girl’s face. Only now does he take her fully in. Her clothes are stained with blood from the fishes she has probably disembowelled. Her fingers are rough and calloused from the work with the various knives. Her hair, regularly brown, is cut off at her shoulders and pulled back into a ponytail. Her cheeks, slightly sunken in, and the lines on her face make her appear older than she is, older than him.

“If you would please cease diverting the Sir” one of the rangers has approached them and comes to stop beside Aethas. The girl shrinks back, and he can clearly see the fear in her eyes.

“Where are your parents, girl?” Aethas asks her, not daring to speak her name, his voice slipping automatically in the trained tone.

She shrinks further back, and his teeth clamp down on his tongue, he had not intended to sound so cold.

“They are at the anchorage, Sir. They try to catch some more fish; waters lately have been empty …” she trails off while her eyes rove over the nearly empty stall.

Before Aethas can answer the another of the rangers appear at his other side and hisses: “That is M’Lord for you, girl. Did your parents not teach you any manners?”

Tears well up in the girl’s eyes and Aethas has to turn away from her while the third ranger joins them as well: “For selling near to nothing you are rather finely dressed, taken to stealing, have you?”

Aethas walks away at the first sob. He quickens his steps, but the rangers still return to his sides.

He thanks them quickly as he leaves the bazaar behind and they bow quickly to him then return to the rooftops.

His feet carry him out onto the walk of the elders, and he contemplates where to go to now. He could return to the academy, eat lunch there then begin the studies for next year. It would be the saver, the _better_ option. Or, he could go to the anchorage and look for his parents.

Without giving in to doubt he turns towards the city’s gates.

Aethas teleports to the West Sanctum then takes a hawkstrider to the anchorage. Lay-keeper Velania had sent a troop of two blood knights to accompany him.

“It is not safe for you to travel there at such an hour, Sir” she had simply stated, and he had grudgingly accepted the guards. The two guards, Tasa and Norilan, seemed to be glad to be allowed to leave the sanctum for the short time. They rode silently on each side of him and it was Tasa, the younger of the two, who asked him what he was searching for at the anchorage.

“I am looking for two elderly fishers-” for a moment he considered telling her of his parents but then turns away from such thoughts.

“Knowledge is power” is what he has been taught for most of his life, “the more a person knows about you the more power they have over you.”

He had a slip up with the Grand Magister yesterday already.

The anchorage, one of the areas of their realm where the rebuilding process was most prominent, was filled with life. Most of their lost fleet had risen from the depth of the water and thus three ships were anchoring at the moment.

His eyes travelled further south from the main tower to where the rolling landscape of green hills flattened out into flat beaches.

The murlocks which had raided the beaches had been eliminated some years ago and thus the beaches became a prominent fishing spot again as the current which leads to the anchorage also brought many fishes to the shores.

The hawkstrider, a finely trained creature, willingly diverts from the road and followed his directions and Aethas pulled it to a stop on the last hill which overlooked most of the surrounding beaches.

There are only three families at the beach today. His parents are the farthest out, the waves lapping at their knees.

The two knights stop at his side and follow his gaze.

“Should we bring them here?” Norilan asks and Aethas can only shake his head. From where they were sitting atop their mounts, he could see his parents clearly.

They look older than he remembers, the kindness which he remembers in his mother’s face has been washed away by age. They are frighteningly thin, and their eyes still fiercely bleed green.

Aethas eyes turn more yellow with each day, everything at the academy is made with water from the Sunwell and all of the younger years have changed already. But outside of the academy, outside where the common people walk, green eyes always stare back at him.

Aethas couldn’t help but wonder if his parents might not remember him as well. Or they might not recognize him. How could they? As Aethas had grown older and had immersed himself in the study of magic that very power which flowed around and within him had changed him. Had made his limbs stronger, his muscles more defined, his facial features finer, eyes sharper. Most importantly his hair had changed from a brownish amber to a fiery red.

He turns his hawkstrider back towards the road, “Sir?” Tasa asks him, but he doesn’t answer her at first, only once the beach is long lost behind them.

“I will talk to them some other time. They seem to be busy” he says coldly as he guides his hawkstrider towards the sanctum again.

The guards thankfully say nothing and simply accompany him back.

His portal returns him to his room, and he sinks on his bed, sighing tiredly.

Closing his eyes for just a moment he is startled by three sharp knocks on his door.

Scrambling from the sheets he rushes to the door and nearly crashes into the elf that stands just outside of it.

Straightening his robes, a blush rises to his cheeks while the other elf, a male in arcanists robes, clears his throat pointily.

“Sunreaver, the Grand Magister has sent me to get you” the other elf nasals and Aethas can’t help but raise an eyebrow in question.

“The Grand Magister send for me? What does he want” he asks but the other male only hums derogatorily then snares: “It is not our place to question his Mightiness”.

“Of course, of course” he huffs then moves around the other elf and closes the door to his room, locking it tightly.

“Well, lead the way” he sighs and follows the other out of the academy and into the city.

A portal takes them to Quel’danas where he nearly loses the other, who still hasn’t introduced himself, in the body of other robed elves. They enter the Magisters’ terrace and he quickly follows until they stop in front of the closed doors which lead to the Grand Magister’s asylum.

Outside the door another elf in arcanist robes is waiting, he addresses Aethas’ guide as they draw closer:

“I wasn’t aware that your break is already over, Fanolarin?”

A mocking smile graces his lips as Fanolarin beside Aethas sends the other arcanist a glare.

The arcanists push open the door and Fanolarin follows Aethas inside.

“Your Mightiness, I present to you Aethas Sunreaver” the arcanist boasts while bowing deeply.

“Did I not send you hours ago, Fanolarin?” the Grand Magister, who had sat behind the only desk in the room, but was now rising from the chair, barked.

Aethas watched transfixed as the arcanists paled and nodded, from beyond the door he could make out the faint snicker of the third elf.

“Then why is it that you only return to me _now_?” the Grand Magister seethes while stalking over to them.

“Apologies, but Sunreaver was not in his room. I had to wait for him —” Fanolarin tries to explain but is interrupted by the Grand Magister’s raised hand.

“Enough of your apologies, you can leave now” Rommath orders harshly and Fanolarin quickly runs from the room, closing the doors behind him.

Now, as they are alone the Grand Magister sighs and mumbles something to himself. Aethas can only make parts of the elder’s words but he is certain that the other is calling the arcanists inept, stupid and the likes.

“Well, are you coming?” the Grand Magister suddenly addresses him, and he hurries after the older elf.

“Upstairs on the table are scrolls. Go read them while I try not to go mad over such high levels of incompetence” Rommath orders and Aethas barely manages to ask which table he means.

Not willing to invoke the other’s anger upon himself he simply takes the ramp to his left which leads to the small platform behind the Grand Magister’s desk.

Indeed, there is a table, a chair and a multitude of scrolls.

The scrolls have become yellow from age which speaks a lot of their age as Quel’dorei and Sin’dorei had scrolls from before the great thundering which were not yet yellowed.

“Great, a study in old Darnassian” he can’t help but think while giddiness rises inside him nonetheless. Scrolls this old were either in family property or kept in Silvermoon’s archives. Either way: only a few were allowed to read them.

Hastily he sits down and reaches for the nearest scroll. It is just as yellow as the other’s but he pulls back his hand as soon as he laid a finger on it.

A small stinging pain and a short cut on his finger from which a small drop of blood falls to the yellow paper.

“Huh” he watches in fascination as the paper soaks up his blood. Carefully gliding backwards on his chair, he waits for anything to happen.

For a few seconds nothing happens then the scrolls, all of them, suddenly begin to hum and to glow a deep red. Just as quickly as it had begun it is over too and the scroll, which he had held, opens.

Warily he slips closer to the table again and peeks at the inside of the scroll.

Old darnassian flows in elaborate loops over every space of the yellow background.

Holding his breath, he settles back in and begins to read.

He doesn’t notice when the Grand Magister, much later, comes up the ramps and stops somewhere to his left.

Aethas is busy taking quick notes, copying runes which might be useful and combining them with others.

One of his previous experiments had resulted in a rune which had been strangely familiar, and it took him far too long to fully recognize it. Taking the small pendant out he had transformed it back to its original size to see the identical rune glimmer on the cube.

Since then he had made it his goal to figure out the other runes on the cube. As the grand Magister approached, he was down to the last rune and was missing just one part to figure it out.

“Harmful” is what you are looking for Rommath muses as he studies Aethas’ notes from over his shoulder.

Surprised by the other’s sudden appearance he jerks back and collides with the other’s shoulder.

The Grand Magister’s words register, and he reaches out for a different scroll where he finds the rune for “harmful”.

“Runes, these kinds not the dragon runes, origin as a proto-language between the first high born. Only those among their group were taught the runes. However, they quickly realized that it was no use as a language and instead formed the first parts of Thalassian. Yet they kept studying runes, unaware of the draconic ones and used them as the foundation for their most powerful spells.

Fortunately, most of the documents regarding the runes were in family possession and thus taken when the split between Kal’dorei and Quel’dorei was completed. These scrolls were among the very first the high born wrote.”

Aethas listens raptly while his eyes fly over the different scrolls.

“Now any idea what other runes you wish to place on there?” Rommath suddenly asks him as he gestures over to the cube.

“Some. Nothing specific yet” Aethas answers and turns back towards his notes.

The runes which already are on the cube mainly concentrate on protecting whoever possesses the cube.

“And what would those ideas be?” the Grand Magister inquires and sends Aethas scrambling for some of his other notes.

“A detection rune. Thus far one rune is against physical attacks, the second against spells, the third against curses and the fourth hides me from harmful eyes. However, none detect and show me, my attackers. The sixth would be one to protect those around me. Only allies, of course,” Aethas replies and sees the satisfied glimmer in the other’s green-yellow eyes.

“An interesting choice for sure. Then I will leave you to your studies as soon as dinner is over” with those the Grand Magister back towards the ramps.

The Grand Magister’s Asylum has no windows, like many other rooms in the terrace, and thus Aethas hadn’t noticed how much time has gone by, yet his stomach doesn’t fail to remind him.

“Are you coming? You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, or something like that” Rommath calls out and Aethas hastily follows him outside the room.

He had expected to eat a small meal, just like he would in the academy. Instead, the Grand Magister pushes him through a portal.

The room they end up in is the biggest Aethas has ever seen. Illusions hide walls and the ceiling. Above them, the stars twinkle while around them the ebony and golden trees of the Eversong woods sway in a soft breeze. Only the marble floor below his feet remind him that he did not teleport into the forest. That, and the long table in the room.

The long, golden table spans the whole length of the room and has room for approximately 30 people.

“Close your mouth, boy, you won’t be eating flies for dinners” the Grand Magisters mutters amused from beside him, then gently leads him to the opposite end of the table where two plates are placed.

Aethas feels impossible small beside the other elf in the room and the warm hand on his upper back reminds him of the times where his father had led him towards the guards.

“It is alright, Aethas. We will see us again soon” he had always promised and that promised was the only thing Aethas had had of him during the years where the intervals between the visits grew larger. _Soon_.

The Grand Magister takes the seat opposite of Aethas and as soon as they sit servants arrive with the first course of food.

Other than the illusion of the leaves on the wind there is no other sound in the room until Rommath begins: “I’ve heard that you have been visiting the anchorage today. And the market. The General was quite surprised to hear about a mage wandering about the bazaar.”

Aethas eyes the other elf warily, “Yes. I just wished to leave the academy for some time. The anchorage reminds me of my home.”

“What could the academy and the anchorage have in common?” the other elf wonders and Aethas knows what the Grand Magister expects from him.

However, one slip-up once per week is enough, and thus he simply answers while shrugging his shoulders: “They look out to the sea. But at the anchorage, there aren’t that many students.”

“You could always come here” Rommath replies and there is that glint in his eyes again, the one he gets whenever he makes Aethas an offer, “Here too are no other students. And I could arrange for your room to look out to the sea.”

Aethas can’t help the tired smile that slips on his lips and only shakes his head.

Anger flashes over the Grand Magister’s face as his eyes darken.

“Other little birds told me that you have been seeing your begetters. You are aware that they are not allowed into proximity with you, yes?” Rommath continues in false nonchalantly and Aethas nearly chokes on his first bite of the main course.

“What?” he croaks out, raising his gaze just in time to see the smug smile on the other’s lips.

“Last week they handed over the documents. Couldn’t pay for you anymore thus they gave you up” Rommath continues as Aethas feels coldness creep up on him as if the forest around them froze.

“No —” he tries to argue, “— they wouldn’t. I paid for all my expenses for the past years. I even send them money to support _them_. I —”

Helplessly he looks over to the other elf, the drawn out look in his sister which he had noticed earlier made sense now, just as the quick ageing of his parents did.

“And your teachers have saved all of it for you for later years. As you know it is normal for the older academy students to begin working already. All the money you earn is being saved for when you leave the academy”

Aethas knows that is the case and had always envied his fellow students, whose parents had enough money to pay for their expenses. There had only been two other students which were in the same situation as him.

“They want my parents to pay with something else” one of the other two had told him once, “they are sucking them dry. Using them to power crystals while the Sunwell could easily do the same.”

His friend’s parents had died of mana depletion, two ordinary farmers that never used a spell in their life. The other boy had been adopted by a powerful Magistrix not a week after his parents had been laid to rest.

Aethas eyes wander up to meet the Grand Magister’s as soon as nausea had gone down.

“What did you do to them?” he asks shakily, forcing his hands to remain calm on the table.

“Nothing as of yet, however, such a crime needs to be punished” the Grand Magister retorts coldly.

He wants to scream, to yell that the only crime his family committed was having him among them, but he could not voice a single sound.

“If they have given me up, if they declared that I no longer belong to their blood then that means that they are allowed into proximity with me too. Then they did not commit a crime” he suddenly remembers as much as the words hurt as they leave his tongue.

Victory is clearly written over the Grand Magister’s face and Aethas is aware that he would have lost anyway.

“It is good that you accept your begetters' decision. They might even live a few decades more this way” Rommath says triumphantly, then, as the desert is set down in front of them, he pulls out a scroll.

The scroll, a new white one, not even a year old, is pushed towards him and this time Aethas can’t control the shaking of his hands as he opens it.

It is an official certificate of the Magisterium which declares Grand Magister Rommath as his official guardian.

For a moment, the world tilts around Aethas but he blinks it back into focus. The words on the paper stay the same.

“Sadly, as your parents are still _alive_ this is the best I could do —” the older elf trails off and Aethas wonders if Rommath truly thinks he is doing him a favour.

“The best you could —” he tries to keep his voice low and steady but fails in both, “I love my parents, Rommath. I don’t want to be adopted by anyone else.”

The Grand Magister only raises an eyebrow in question at him: “And what? Life in the academy forever? Please, boy, be realistic. Your talent and skill will be much more honed with somebody who has the necessary resources. Which, as I might remind you, your begetters don’t have.”

Aethas hates that the other is right, that they both know the older is right in both points. However, he would take all word of agreement to his grave.

“Besides, it is already done. I have arranged for you to move into your new room in two weeks. That will give you ample time to look for furniture. My accountant, Mr Cindersong will assist you with your task.”

That seems to be all the Grand Magister plans on saying on the topic.

Aethas can only stare as the other elf finishes his desert, searching for any way out of this predicament.

Servants come and carry the last of the Grand Magister’s empty plates away and Aethas forces out a court: “Please take mine as well, I have lost my appetite.”

“Nonsense,” the Grand Magister orders instead, “leave his dish and have Mr Cindersong called for. I wish to introduce them tonight!”

The servant, a young boy with short brown hair, bows deeply then rushes off.

“Eat your dessert, boy. We wouldn’t want it to go cold.”

Aethas hated every delicious bite of the soft cake and glared over to the black-headed elf who only smiled softly back at him.

Just as he took the last bite of the fruity cake another older elf enters the room. He walks on the opposite side of Aethas’ along with the long table then stopped to Rommath’s right side.

“You called for me, Master?” the elf, tall grown with auburn hair, says while bowing deeply.

Rommath doesn’t spare him a glance, instead, he keeps his eyes fixed on Aethas: “Yes, Mr Cindersong, I wish to introduce you to my ward. Aethas Sunreaver.”

The world begins to turn around him again as Mr Cindersong looks over to him. He can’t help but glare back at the two elves opposite of him.

“He seems – spirited,” Mr Cindersong says, “temperamental” Aethas can read in his eyes.

“And both very talented and skilled” the Grand Magister adds and Aethas eyes widen. It is the first time that the older openly compliments him.

“He will move in in a few days. Until then I want you to assist him with furniture and all that. In fact, I will leave the two of you to make your first plans. I will get you as soon as you two are finished, then you might continue to work on the runes” Rommath declares and rises from the table and soon has vanished through a portal.

Silence enters the room and Aethas sighs, then smiles tiredly at Mr Cinderbloom, it is not the other’s fault for whom he works.

Mr Cinderbloom only nods in his direction then leads him out of the dining room. The halls they pass through are all the same: Tall white walls, marble floor, red drapes and domed ceilings.

He has no idea in which cardinal direction they’re walking, he only knows that the halls wind higher and higher.

There are only a few other halls or doors that enter their hallway thus Aethas quickly has no idea where they are, not that he had an idea in the first place. “Probably in the Grand Magister’s house,” he thinks, but as he has never seen it from the outside, he doesn’t even know in which part of the city they are in if they even were in the city.

Mr Cinderbloom doesn’t say much either, simply leads him through the seemingly endless hallway. The only thing that changes is the decoration. Different miniature trees, expensive vases and sculptures line the walls from time to time, as well as small animal figures made of crystal glass and gemstones.

Aethas falters when he sees two figurines, he has made himself: The one he had made last year, a small filigree phoenix figurine made of one single clear ruby. The second one was one of his first tries many years ago.

However, Mr Cindersong simply continues on and therefore Aethas quickly follows him.

They finally stop in front of a door to their left, the hallway going on endlessly both in front and behind them.

“Here we are, young Sir” Mr Cindersong utters then pushes the door open. The room is large and circular and empty. Opposite of where they are standing in an open doorway through which he can see the blue ocean outside. Another door to his right and another to his left, also opposite of each other, are the other only two openings in the wall, save for the two full-length windows on both sides of the doorway.

Mr Cindersong gestures for Aethas to enter and so he does. The ceiling is far above his head and he is only truly aware of how incredibly large the room is once he stands inside.

“The bathroom is to your left, the study to your right. As it is already very late the sun is no longer visible however the sunrise should be beautiful from the balcony” the other says and Aethas wanders towards the balcony. Cool evening air meets him as soon as he crosses the doorway. Below him, in the last light of the day, the ocean gleams. In the distance to his left he can make out the faint glimmer of the Sunwell, feels its magic radiating around him.

Turning back around he looks up at the tall building, which is perched on the outer ring of the city. There are no other balconies above him, however, he can make out two more below him.

“Any preferences in colour?” Mr Cindersong suddenly asks him from within the room and Aethas returns inside.

His mind wanders to his room back in the academy, the stark white sheets mixed with the Sin’dorian red. Then to his former room in Dalaraan with its multitude of shades of purple.

He doesn’t want to have this room represent any of the other two. If he has the chance to choose colours, then he might as well take it.

“Maybe some green, blue, red and yellows?” he asks unsure but Mr Cindersong only nods.

“Of course, I shall collect some samples of different fabrics for towels, drabs and rugs. I will have the first ones brought to your room at the academy tomorrow morning” the older elf bows slightly to him just as a portal spits out the Grand Magister.

“Change yellow to gold and I believe we will be good to go. After you, child, you still need to continue your research” Rommath first addresses Mr Cindersong then Aethas as he gestures towards the portal.

Aethas huffs but steps through, there is nothing he can do. If it is true what the Grand Magister says if his parents truly have given him up …

Was he even allowed to keep his name? Was he still a Sunreaver?

Such questions still filled his mind even when he stared at the scrolls. He regrets not talking to his parents today, regrets not approaching them. If only his fear hadn’t controlled him, if only …

“You should have told me that you were too tired to work, child” the Grand Magister had suddenly appeared at his table again and Aethas blinked up at him.

His eyes wandered down to his still empty scroll then over the table.

“Come, Aethas, I will take you back to the Academy” the Grand Magister continues as a portal appears beside Aethas.

His exhausted mind barely manages to get him into bed and his tiredness shows in how little concerned he is over the voice crooning in his head: “Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance. Too long you have wandered in winter, far from my fathering gaze.”


End file.
